Silent Wishes
by afoolforthg
Summary: Alternate universe. Peeta and Katniss have been best friends for years, even though they are opposites. When Prim is reaped, Katniss volunteers right away, but her district partner is Gale Hawthorne, the boy that fed her when she almost starved years ago.


A/N: I haven't much of an idea where I'm going with this, so please bear with me. Also, The Hunger Games and everything in it belongs to Suzanne Collins, I own nothing, blah blah blah.

I roll over onto my side, reaching my hand out to find Prim, but I only feel the cold sheets. With a frown, I open my eyes and rub them so the room is clear. Prim is sleeping next to my mother, snuggled close to her, like she's scared of something and needs my mother's protection.

And then I remember. Today's reaping day.

I force myself out of bed, even though I still feel groggy. But I need to get a move on if I'm going to get my family a good meal. Might as well feed them well, considering that I may be shipped off to my death today.

What nice thoughts to wake up to.

I grab my father's old hunting jacket and game bag from their usual hooks on my way out the door. The inside material of the jacket feels cold, but the memories behind it make me feel warm. I still clearly remember my first time hunting. I had pleaded with my father to go with him, and my mother was so against it, shaking her head and protesting.

"Let her come," my father had said. "Come on, Katniss." I had eagerly followed him, listening to all of his instructions on hunting and ducking under the fence and skinning animals. Considering I was still just a child, I didn't do much then, just sat on a rock, occasionally taking a dead animal from him and ridding it of its skin.

I pull the jacket closer to me as the wind rushes over me, blowing my hastily braided hair to the side. Even though it's still early, not as many people as usual are out and about. It's not like they have a reason to, since you might as well try to sleep in on reaping day. If, by chance, your child gets reaped, it's not like you're going to have another night of peaceful sleep anytime soon.

I decide to stop at the Mellarks' bakery and see if Peeta wants to come hunting. He doesn't do much when he comes with me, but he's a nice companion. He skins animals for me, talks to me, and keeps an eye out for trouble. Then we go back to the bakery and trade, even though it can't really be called trading, since we mostly just give the other something for free.

I knock on the bakery's back door. I used to just open the door and walk in, but his mother once caught me and gave me a lecture on how "rude and inappropriate it is to just walk in" because it's not my property.

Whatever.

Luckily, Peeta's probably been expecting me, so he opens the door. "Hi, Katniss," he says, stepping aside to let me in. The smell of baking bread and pastries makes my mouth water, and I guess Peeta notices that.

"Want something to eat?" he asks with a laugh. As tempting as the offer is, I smile and shake my head.

"No, not right now," I answer. "I'm about to go hunting; want to come with me?"

Peeta screws his lips to the side, looking confused. "You sure you want me to tag along? I mean, I'm not very useful." Then he smiles. "And you complain that I'm too loud."

I laugh; I have snapped at Peeta for being loud and scaring off game in the past, but he can actually be an asset to me when I'm hunting. I walk toward him and lean against the counter.

"Yes, I'm sure," I tell him. "Besides, it's reaping day."

His eyes search mine. "What's that supposed to mean?" He doesn't sound offended, just puzzled. I'm not even sure what I meant by that.

"I want to get my family a good meal," I answer after a moment of hesitation. This provokes a concerned look from him. He touches my arm.

"Katniss, don't worry about being reaped," he says. "It's not going to happen. There's still thousands of slips." I try not to notice how his voice falters a little. The odds aren't really in my favor, but it could be worse. I heard that there's someone with his name in the reaping bowl 42 times, though I don't know if it's true.

"I know," I say quietly. For a few seconds we just look at each other, and I'm amazed by how much could pass between us without us saying any words. I wonder what would happen if I do get reaped, if I do have to fight for my life, if I do have to die. His eyes tell me that I need to stop thinking this way because I'm only making things worse.

_I know_, I think. _I know._

But then he smiles, pats my arm, and walks past me toward the door. How could he just pretend that nothing ever happened? Why does he always act like everything's just fine when it's not, when it never will be?

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"I thought you wanted to go hunting," Peeta answers, looking like an innocent child. With a laugh, I take his arm and pull him back inside.

"You can't go out like that," I point out, looking at his flour-stained apron and inappropriate outfit for hunting.

"Are you ashamed of being seen with a baker boy?" he asks, his voice teasing.

"Yeah, because you know what a classy girl I am," I said with a laugh. "Now come on. I don't have all day." With a light push from me, he stumbles toward the staircase and takes the steps two at a time.

Mr. Mellark comes downstairs, brushing past Peeta. He sees me and stops.

"Hi, Katniss," he says in a pleasant voice. "You're early."

"Good morning," I say. "And yeah, I know. I couldn't really sleep." It's not even a lie. I had a nightmare where Prim and Peeta were reaped and I had to watch them die on live television. That's how the Hunger Games work. Watch innocent kids die for the entertainment of the Capitol, where the children never starve and everything you could ever want is right at your fingertips.

Mr. Mellark comes over to me and places his large hand on my bony shoulder. "I know you're worried about today, especially since it's Prim's first year. But it'll be okay. Prim's name is only in there once." He looks like he's going to say something else, maybe something about how I won't get reaped, but he knows I'm not stupid. He knows better than to promise me that I won't be reaped, because it's not like the odds are in my favor.

"Ready to go?" Peeta asks, appearing next to me. He's wearing loose fitting pants and a light colored t-shirt. I nod as he takes my arm and leads me toward the door.

"Be careful," Mr. Mellark calls, but neither of us answer, because we're already outside.

We're mostly silent on the walk to the woods. I like it this way; it's peaceful.

When we get there, Peeta's a lot of help to me, doing whatever I ask without hesitation. He helps me pick strawberries, reel in some fish, and skin a few animals for me. He's a little loud when he's hunting with me; it's not like he's talking, but he drags his feet a little and breathes heavily.

He's even more helpful when it comes to trading, making up for the charm that I lack. The people in the Hob seem to like him, but it's hard to hate someone so happy and sweet. I think that we make a few unfair trades, getting some things of a higher value in return.

When we sell strawberries to Madge, the mayor's daughter, she seems happy to see us. She wears a white dress and a gold pin that neither Peeta nor I could ever afford. She wishes us luck in the reaping, sounding genuine. It's not like she has anything to worry about, though.

"So I'll see you later?" Peeta asks after walking me home.

"Well, obviously," I say. You can't just decide not to go to the reaping. The only way you can get out of it is if you're on death's door, and even then, officials come to check every house.

"Yeah," Peeta says, laughing a little. The air seems heavy around us, making it harder to breathe. It's probably because the reaping is only an hour or so away. I can even hear them setting up in the square.

"Good luck," I tell him.

"May the odds be _ever _in your favor," he says, trying to joke, but it doesn't make either of us feel better. He opens his arms and I go straight into them, not caring who sees. He smells like fresh bread and pastries, a nice, comforting scent.

"Check your hunting bag," he says softly in my ear. I pull back and dig my hand in.

"Peeta!" I gasp. There are two big loaves of fresh bread in my bag. How'd he sneak them in without me seeing? "Here, take something. Strawberries? Squirrels? Fi-"

"Katniss," he says, stopping me. "I don't want anything in return. Really."

I sigh, unsure of how to thank him. "You need to stop doing this. It's not fair to you."

"Oh, because you never sneak me anything?" he asks with a smile. "Bye, Katniss." He squeezes my arm and walks past me.

"Bye, Peeta," I say, even though he's no longer next to me.

When I get inside the house, Prim is waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen table. I slip off my jacket and drop my bag on the table in front of her.

"Good afternoon, little duck," I say, kissing the top of her head. "Look at you. You're all ready for today." She wears my first reaping outfit: a white blouse and a light brown skirt. The shirt looks too big on her, but she looks lovely all the same.

"Mom wants you to go get ready," Prim tells me. "She has a dress out on your bed. It's really pretty, Katniss. You'll look beautiful."

"Oh, not as pretty as you, Prim," I say, squeezing her shoulders. "Where's Mom?"

"She's running a bath for you."

"Oh," I say, stiffening a little. I don't like it when my mother does things for me. I'm sixteen. I can do things by myself.

I know that that's not the reason why I don't like when she does things like this. It's because I'm always afraid that she'll leave us again. I can't go through that again. _Prim_ can't go through that again.

I don't speak to my mother as I pass by her. I just scrub myself clean of the dirt on my body and slip into the dress she left me. Prim was right. It does look beautiful on me.

"Look how lovely you are," my mother says, walking into my room.

"Thanks," I say, because there isn't much else to tell her.

She does my hair in some sort of elaborate braid on the top of my head, carefully tucking my dark hair into the style. It enhances my look drastically. She pats my shoulder a little cautiously before walking out of the room.

Before the three of us walk to the square, Prim has a little breakdown, one that I should've seen coming. She starts crying right before I walk outside, and she presses herself against the wall and slides down to the floor.

"Prim," I whisper, sitting next to her and taking her light hands in mine. "It's okay, Prim. It's okay." I lift her onto my lap and bury my face in her blonde hair.

"I-I don't want to go," she hiccups. "What if…what if I…what if you…"

"Prim, calm down. You'll be all right. I promise," I tell her. "Your name is only in there once. One in thousands of slips. The odds are in your favor, little duck." I don't tell her that the odds are in my favor. She knows better.

"O-okay," she says, calming down a little. After a minute or two, I help her to her feet, and we walk outside, hand in hand. My mother is waiting for us outside the house, and the three of us silently make our way to the square.

I reassure Prim again once we get to the square, telling her that she's fine. Her finger is pricked and so is mine, and then we go our separate ways, me to the sixteen year old group, her to the twelve year olds.

I don't see Peeta, but he has to be here. I try to clear my mind as the mayor steps up to the podium, reading the Treaty of Treason and the history of Panem. Before I know it, Effie Trinket is at the microphone, going on and on about what an honor it is to be there, how exciting this is, but it's clear that she just wants to be promoted to a better district.

"And now, ladies first!" she says brightly, like we're going to win a great prize if we're picked. My heart starts to pound, so hard and fast that I'm sure the people next to me could hear it. _Please don't be me, don't be me, don't be…_

In a clear, loud voice, Effie reads the name: "Primrose Everdeen!"

For a few seconds, I don't do anything. I must black out for that quick moment, because when I blink my eyes a couple of times, Peeta's hands are on my arms, bringing me back to reality. Prim is walking stiffly toward the stage, her hands behind her back. I push Peeta away and rush toward her.

"Prim!" I shout. "Prim!" _This can't be happening, this can't be happening, it's all just a bad dream…_

Everyone is silent, looking at me. Prim stops, turns around, and stares at me with such a helpless look on her face, my heart breaks.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I shriek. Prim runs toward me, trying to push me away.

"No! No! Don't do this!" she screams, sobbing hysterically, grabbing my arms. Peeta makes his way toward us, lifting Prim off the ground and bringing her to my mother.

"How exciting! Come on, dear!" Effie says, gesturing for me to come on stage. Peacekeepers guide me up the steps, and Effie grabs me and bring me toward the microphone.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Katniss Everdeen," I whisper, because I don't trust myself to speak any louder than that. I spot Prim and my mother in the crowd. My mother looks shocked, her mouth wide open. Prim is sobbing into my mother's chest, clutching her for dear life. Then I find Peeta, but I can't see his face. He holds his head in his hands, probably as shocked as I am with the situation.

"Well, congratulations! Let's give a hand to District Twelve's first volunteer!" Effie exclaims, clapping. Not one person joins in on the applause. Instead, they press three fingers to their mouth and hold their hands out to me. It's a sign that says goodbye to someone you love and respect.

I feel tears threatening to pour down my cheeks, but I force them back. I'm broken inside, but I can't let that show.

"Well, time for the gentlemen!" Effie says, crossing over to the boys' reaping bowl. She picks the first slip her hands hits, then trots back to the microphone. I'm praying that it's not Peeta, not Peeta, not Peeta…

"Your male tribute is…Gale Hawthorne!"

I freeze. I know that name. I know it better than I should. I know it more than I want to.

_Not him. Please, no, not him._

Gale Hawthorne and I have met exactly once, but I know I could never forget it…


End file.
